


To See If I Could See You

by teashadephoenix



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teashadephoenix/pseuds/teashadephoenix
Summary: Héctor has writer's block. It becomes a moment at the crossroads when Imelda tells him a piece of big news.





	To See If I Could See You

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the kind of mindset Héctor must've had to be the kind of man who adored his family but still left them. Maybe the beginning of a series, idk? I have a couple ideas.
> 
> That having been said, this is 10% character study, 90% unrepentant fluff. Héctor is in crazy love with his wife, y'all.
> 
> also, even though the song doesn't actually fit the time period (1918) give a listen to Malagueña Salerosa because that is absolutely the song Héctor and Imelda sing together. The lyrics are the most Imector thing I have ever heard.

The sky was a deep blue, not a cloud in sight. An early spring breeze wound its way through Santa Cecilia, bringing the music from the plaza toward a lone guitar player. Had he been feeling like himself, he would have been in the plaza too, singing and playing until his fingers went numb.

Instead he was sitting in the courtyard of his own home, a little red book open at his side. He brushed out a few chords. A measure or three into the song, he held his palm to the strings, abruptly stopping the sound, and strummed again, this time changing the notes. Then, with a little frustrated shake of his head, he played the chord again as it had been the first time. He groaned, took up his pen, and scribbled something out in the book.

Usually this was easier. Not to say that writing wasn't hard work. It was. But it had seemed easier up until about three months or so ago. Before that, his head had been overflowing with ideas, melodies he couldn't get out of his head, or strings of homeless lyrics looking for notes to live on. Now, he had to drag the songs out of his soul.

He hated to think it, but the only thing that had changed in the past few months was...

"Are you stuck?"

Héctor looked up at the sound of Imelda's voice. His heart gave a little flutter at the sight of her, standing only an arm's length away, dressed in pale blue, her skin glowing. A stray curl had slipped down over her eye and his hand twitched with the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

Not too long ago, he'd had to invent reasons to walk to the other side of town simply to see her. She'd realised early on that all of his errands were nonsense, which suited him fine. Courting made no sense if the girl you had eyes for didn't know you were completely, totally, point of no return head over heels for her.

And because God had taken pity on him, or perhaps because he was the luckiest hombre in all of México, she'd felt the same way about him. They could've heard his grito from the moon, the day she said she'd be his wife.

They'd been married these three months, and still he felt that flutter against his ribs, the same as he had the first time he ever saw her. A little jolt, but not a fright. More comfortable. She fit right at home here, like she was always meant to be his.

He wanted to feel like that in a year. Ten. Fifty. If he lived to be one hundred, he hoped he would always be moved by Imelda.

_"Héctor._ "

He yanked himself out of his thoughts at the tone of her voice. It was the one she put on when she was annoyed, and when they had first started keeping company, he'd been alarmed at how rapidly she could snap between moods. But he'd learned a thing or two since then. There was a heat in her cheeks and a pull at the corners of her mouth. She sounded annoyed, but really, she was embarrassed. Maybe a little bit pleased.

He bit his bottom lip, trying and failing to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. "Sí?"

"You are staring at me."

"Do you want me to stop?"

She ducked her head and smoothed her palms over her bodice. She wasn't vain, his Imelda, so she wasn't likely to have said yes even if she liked him looking at her. He let himself smile as he dropped his gaze to the guitar and played a quick measure of a handsome ballad. "No, I'm not stuck, corazón."

She came to his side and picked up the songbook. There were a half-dozen corrections on the single open page. "You _look_ stuck."

"It'll come to me." He picked up the measure where he'd left off, humming to himself as he played through the next.

In front of him, his wife swayed delicately in the heels of her boots, moving to the rhythm he was playing. When he looked up at her, a glimmer of mischief shone in her eyes.

"Should I sing? Would it help?"

"To be honest, if you do, it will only distract me," he said, with a distinct matter-of-factness and a similar gleam of mischief. Imelda's mouth pursed thoughtfully and Héctor grinned. "Please, distract me."

She laughed and closed his songbook, clasping it to her chest. Then she picked up the ballad, her voice ringing out into the morning sunshine. It was such a familiar old song that Héctor didn't even have to think, his fingers moved on muscle memory alone. It left him able to watch, mesmerised by her eyes as she began to dance. Her skirt whirled out around her, her hair swung over her shoulder, a mass of black curls framing her face. But each time she twirled back around to him, her gaze met his, dark and electric.

She spun and spun, holding notes for as long as he could play them, and as Héctor reached the end of the song she circled back to him and planted herself at his side, breathless and laughing. He leaned close to her, finally allowing himself to brush back the stray curls from her face. Her skin was warm and smelled like sugar.

"How was that? Feeling inspired yet?"

"Not exactly the kind of inspiration you were attempting," he replied, his voice low in his throat. She inclined her head, coyly blocking his implications.

"I think there are plenty of songs about that."

Then she pressed forward and kissed him, and Héctor closed his eyes, trying to memorise every detail of the moment. The softness and shape of her mouth. The way she brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek. The little sound she made when he set aside the guitar and pulled her into his arms.

The lovers sat in the sun in their own world, ensconced in each other and concerned with nothing else. Or so Héctor thought.

He could feel it as Imelda withdrew, sitting quite stiffly beside him even though her face was relaxed, and her hand was sure and steady in his. He tipped his head. "Imelda... what is it?"

"I've been trying to figure out for several days how to tell you," she said. He knew his face must've been hell, because she immediately squeezed his hand. "Dios mío, Héctor, don't look so worried. I'm fine. Everything is fine."

"Who begins a conversation with a worrisome comment like that and doesn't realise the impact it will have?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You make me crazy, woman-"

"Héctor." There was a weight in her voice, a tone that demanded attention. He opened his eyes, took in the incandescence of her smile. Pure joy. "I'm going to have a baby, Héctor."

He felt like she'd socked him in the gut. His lungs stopped and all his thoughts fled at the sight of the lightning that had just struck. His eyes dropped down to her waist and shot back up to her face, still shining with happiness. And hesitant hope. Was there even a tiny part of her that thought he would be dismayed by this news? He couldn't imagine how that could be a part of what he was supposed to be feeling, not when he was picking through the excitement, the nervousness, the pride, and, yes, a significant collection of abject terror...

His Imelda was going to have a baby!

He sang out an impromptu grito that seemed to bubble up all on its own, as he leapt to his feet and swept her up, swinging her around. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself be spun, laughing in his ear. He set her down again, gently, and kissed her.

"Ay, mi amor, I can't believe it- Are you sure? How long have you known-" He made a sound he hadn't made since his parents died, a little choked sob as he looked down at her waist again as though their baby would suddenly make itself apparent there. He placed his hand over her belly. " _Imelda..._ "

"I'm so glad you're happy," she said, exhaling in relief. "I was nervous. About telling you."

"Of course I'm happy- Why-" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Why would you be nervous?"

She shrugged. It was half-hearted, as though she didn't want to say, but she murmured, "You've been different. Since the wedding."

Guilt cut into his stomach like a hot blade. He had hoped it had only been in his head, but if Imelda had noticed, it was real. The melodies that couldn't materialise into songs. Lyrics that felt stale and boring. He'd been feeling it just now, hadn't he? Before she walked up, and changed his world.

Was he bored? How could music be boring to him? It was the only thing that made him happy. Or, it had been. That was certainly no longer true.

Not with Imelda in his life. Not when they were about to have a baby.

But he couldn't help but miss it. How easily it had used to come to him. The past few months had been a quagmire of disappointment when it came to his guitar. He'd found himself more and more apt to being pulled away. And then frustrated because he had allowed himself to be distracted.

_Distract me_.

Had he directed any of that personal frustration to Imelda? Had he, for even a moment, implied to her that he found her presence intolerable? The thought nauseated him.

He bent and scooped his arm beneath her knees, lifting her easily into his arms; she gave a yelp of surprise and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I _was_ stuck," he said. "I'm sorry. It wasn't you."

She nodded, forgiving him for the transgression without hesitation. "Only I... I began to worry that we had made a mistake. Getting married... Perhaps we should have waited. Until we were older."

"No, no, no," he crooned. "I couldn't stand to live one more month without you. The happiest moment of my life was on the day when you agreed to marry me. Nothing compares to it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not even the day we actually married?"

He gave her a toothy grin. "You were my wife the moment you agreed to be so. Everything else was perfunctory."

"Sí," she said dryly. "The wedding my papá threw, the speech my hermanos gave welcoming you into our family, my mamá crying at the song you wrote for me- the _good_ one, not that dance number you like to break out whenever you think you're being clever-" She rolled her eyes. "That was merely routine."

There was something adorable about the pout of her lips, but he didn't like that she had misunderstood him. Héctor tipped his forehead to hers. Imelda recoiled slightly, still annoyed, but he caught her attention with a soft speech.

"I knew if you agreed to marry me when I was a músico flaco idiota, when I had no money and nothing to give you except dreams-"

"By which you mean, by being yourself-" she said. Her irritation no longer reached her eyes, and he smiled.

"Then there was nothing that I could ever do to lose you. All I have to be is myself, and that isn't hard to be. _That_ is why our lovely wedding was an afterparty for something that had already happened."

She softened at this, closing her eyes and relaxing in his arms, letting him brush soft kisses to her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. He felt her mouth draw into a smile against his.

"Héctor... Sing my song for me."

"Ay, mi amor-"

" _Not_ the dance number, Héctor."

He chuckled, and then began to sing.

" _Y aunque la vida me cueste, llorona, no dejaré de quererte..._ " 


End file.
